


Six Pence

by Moral



Category: Touhou Project
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 20:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16182275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moral/pseuds/Moral
Summary: Sad,the end that awaits me—to think that before autumn yieldsI'll be a pale mistshrouding rice fields.—Ono no Komachi





	Six Pence

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for touhou-project.com

“Six pence,” said the ferrygirl. 

“I have none,” said the soul. 

She drew a breath of air, leaning her scythe over the shoulder. With a carefully measured smile, she looked at the wisp. 

_Pitiful is the one who has no money in the afterlife_ , she mused. 

“There is no second chance for those penniless, and certainly not those who are penniless and honest! No ferryman in their right mind would bring you along!”

She ferried the soul. This marked the sixth on the last day of the last week.

_Humans have great aptitude for dying, don't they?_

This was a question that she confirmed many times that day. Every day, she eagerly waited for mortals to prove her wrong. And, every day, they did not. 

_If the sixth soul is the last for today, then I shall be happy._

She awaited the seventh. 

The seventh soul appeared before her when the light of the noon shone the brightest. The wisp's form was murky, like the waters she crossed many a time in her ferry. The soul was clear, translucent, but in her eyes, the ferrygirl could only see black. 

She wondered if the Yama was rubbing off on her. 

“Six pence,” said the ferrygirl. 

“I have none,” said the soul. Its voice was light and clear, playful in the way a child's voice was. “But could you spare some mercy for an honest soul like this one?” 

The ferrygirl narrowed her eyes. With a brisk slash of her scythe, she sliced the wisp in half. Its ethereal form ruptured, and a dull, leaden light burst from its insides. A dark, fleshy mass popped out from the wisp, complete with fangs and horns. 

“This is your true form in the afterlife.”

“I have done nothing wrong,” it said. 

She drowned the creature. Then she awaited the eighth. 

The eighth soul came when the noon, and after, was well over. 

“Six pence,” said the ferrygirl.

“I have twelve,” said the soul. “six for me, and six for my love.” 

The ferrygirl stood there, frowning. “Your love, you say?” 

“Yes. I know my love is here. He left the world this afternoon. And I, who could not bear even a minute away, have decided to take my life to meet him.” 

“I see.”

“Do you know where he is, caretaker?” 

She knew exactly where that man was and what had become of him, but she was reluctant to bear the news to this one. “I have drowned him.”

The wisp fizzled, its light fading in and out like a candle with little wick left. Then, silently, it fell into the water by its own volition, sinking into the depths below. 

The ferrygirl collected the twelve pence.

At the very morn of the first day of the first week, when the clock struck twelve, the ferrygirl awaited the first. 

It was not until the sixth hour, when the sun barely crept up above the eternal river, that the first soul of the day arrived. Stirring from her slumber, the ferrygirl groggily uprighted herself from her boat, smoothed down her hair, and grabbed the scythe she used for a headrest. 

“Six pence.”


End file.
